


Spiders

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, Humor, M/M, None - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If someone had told me some of the most important moments in my relationship with Blair Sandburg would happen because of something as weird as spiders, I'm sure I would've laughed them right into a quick little test for controlled substances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spiders

## Spiders

#### by Aouda Fogg

  
I'm pleased we get to play with them a bit while not intending infringement or making any money.  
Many thanks to all the people who betaed this and helped me make it better! Lurkers Rock. Any mistakes that continue to appear are, of course, all mine. :)  
Any resemblance between Blair's feelings about spiders and mine might be coincidental, but probably not. <wg>  


* * *

Spiders 

If someone had told me some of the most important moments in my relationship with Blair Sandburg would happen because of something as weird as spiders, I'm sure I would've laughed them right into a quick little test for controlled substances. 

Then again, we're talking about something involving Sandburg, so I should've expected the weirdness. After all, it tends to inhabit whatever vicinity he's in. 

And so, spiders. They're really what did it. 

My Guide had issues with arachnids long before that idiot out at X Farm tried a death-by-spider approach with him and Alex. Knowing that, I was pretty impressed with how he kept his cool that day and the way he helped Alex stay calm, too. Of course, at the time I made some stupid joke about taking a shower, but looking back, I've got to say I was in some pretty deep denial about how I really felt about him. 

Yeah, I know, big surprise: Jim Ellison in denial about his feelings. Film at eleven. 

Anyway, a couple of weeks after Sandburg moved in for that one week, and one week only, I heard a muffled yelp from his room, followed by a several loud bangs. 

Since I was standing in the kitchen finishing up the dishes, I stuck my head through the doorway and commented with the standard Ellison tact and charm. "What the hell are you doing, Sandburg?" 

When he half-turned towards me, I could see a ratty old tennis shoe in one hand, a Kleenex in the other, and a sheepish expression on his face. 

"Uhm, looks like the spiders in this building didn't get my memo." 

I think I might've shaken my head to see if I'd somehow splashed sudsy dishwater into my ears. I hadn't had enough exposure to begin adjusting to "Non-sequitors From the Sandburg Zone" at that point. "Excuse me?" 

"A spider, man, crawling across my desk, coming right toward me. Clearly he hadn't heard that while I support spiders' right to exist, and appreciate the whole bug catching thing, I don't want to see them on my desk, my bed, or, really, anywhere near my person." 

"Okay." I drawled, beginning to get the point: the kid was afraid of spiders. "You need me to come in there and protect you from the fearsome beast?" 

I got a sour look. 

"Give me a break, Jim." Then he tossed the tissue in the trash and flashed a quick grin -- his mercurial mood changes still fascinate me. "Besides, he's shuffled off his mortal coil, joined the choir invisible . . ." 

"He's an ex-spider; got it. Well, if you're done hunting for the night, you want to get out here and dry?" 

We worked companionably for a few minutes before I could no longer resist. "You want to tell me how a guy who goes off on expeditions in the jungle handles an aversion to spiders?" 

He slid the last plate onto the stack. "Carefully, man. Very carefully. Some of those spiders have their own zip codes." 

I laughed, having seen some of those spiders myself. "Why spiders?" 

He turned around and leaned against the counter, dish towel draped carelessly over his shoulder. As he talked, his gestures got bigger. "Yeah, well, you read _The Hobbit_ and _The Two Towers_ when you're seven, and you see what happens." 

I'll admit I was confused for a moment, but then things clicked. "Ah, I see -- those spiders in Mirkwood and Shelob?" 

How a smile can combine a rueful quality and what seemed to be a bit of pride in me that I'd figured out what he meant I don't know, but his did. 

"You got it! Orcs? Orcs I could handle -- I knew they were pretend. Smaug didn't really scare me, but the ichor Tolkien described from the spiders? And the way they moved? And what Shelob did? Shit, man, I could _see_ spiders, knew what they were. Haven't liked them since." 

I flashed on an image of a seven year old Sandburg curled up in a corner with a book that dwarfed his hands, his eyes getting wider and wider, oblivious to anything but the story. I'm pretty sure I remember thinking he would've been cute. Not that that clued me in on how deep I was in just a couple weeks after meeting him. 

"For years after that, I had these dreams where spiders would come out of my bed, or my pillow, or whatever. I'd wake up enough to turn on the light, put on my glasses, convinced they were there and ready to try and fight back, only to wake up enough to realize that if I had to turn on the light and put on my glasses, I couldn't have seen them in the dark and with blurry sight, but try telling that to my subconscious! I still have them occasionally, actually. One reason I like having a light by my bed." He shook his head. "When I was little and we were somewhere where I couldn't have one, Naomi used to give me a flashlight instead. I'd way rather deal with those mutant rats at the warehouse than spiders." 

The totally artless way he confessed was pretty disarming, and took most of the fun out of teasing him about it. I mean, I'm not real fond of open water, but you don't hear me talking about it or being cheerfully self-deprecating. I remember standing there, wondering what my father would've said if I'd been afraid of spiders when I was a kid. Somehow I don't think he would've just given me a flashlight. 

Finally, I settled on just a little teasing. "Maybe you should re-issue your memo, Chief," 

"Yeah, on all frequencies!" 

I laughed again and we went back to finishing the dishes and talking about _The Hobbit._

So, that was the night I'd realized that I actually liked the guy. He was a hippy geek who liked funky-ass herbs and crappy music, but I'd laughed more in those last couple weeks than I had in a long time, and he did have some great stories, between all the travel, expeditions, trivia, and academic minutia rattling around in his brain. Anyway, that was the night I'd decided that I'd just let the staying here thing ride and see what happened. 

* * *

The day I realized Blair had become family began like an endless array of other days. It wasn't too long after the whole X Farm adventure, and he was out of school for the semester, so Blair came in with me in the morning. We were going about getting settled after a quick consult with Simon when my Guide's heart rate suddenly spiked. I whipped around, bracing against the unseen threat, just in time to see Blair fall backwards, away from his backpack, onto his ass. 

I froze, not understanding what had made my usually fairly graceful partner fall, when two things happened at once: another movement caught my eye and laughter exploded from across the room. Since I immediately recognized the laughter as Brown's and Harrison's, I took a moment to figure out what the movement was: a silver dollar-sized spider was hopping -- jerking -- along the top of Blair's backpack. Just as quickly as I realized what it was, I realized that the spider was fake and that the jerking was because Brown was laughing so hard he was wiggling the fishing line he'd attached to it and strung along the floor to his desk. Clearly they'd taken advantage of Blair leaving his backpack behind my desk while we'd gone in to Simon's office. 

Blair's face was fairly red as he got up, dusted himself off, and laughed along with Brown and Harrison as they explained to the rest of the room what they'd done. No one knows the importance of male bonding in hierarchical societies better than Sandburg -- his joke that he could write dozens of monographs on the subject was no joke -- so he took the ribbing like a good sport, made nice, and accepted the kidding with admirable male aplomb. 

I was the only one who could tell Blair wasn't quite as calm -- or amused -- as he seemed to be; I could hear his heart beating a bit too fast and could smell just the slightest hint of fear drifting from him. 

The moment Brown started in on his third retelling of how funny the look on Blair's face had been, however, I stepped in. "All right, children, some of us have actual work to do, so if playtime is over . . ." I let my voice trail off and turned to Blair. "You mind running down to dispatch to see if they have the Jenkin's tape ready?" 

"Yeah, sure, no problem, man," he answered. The look he shot me over his glasses as he left let me know he knew what I was doing but still appreciated the chance to get away gracefully and have a moment to compose himself. 

That was half the reason I'd done it. The other half started as soon as he was out of earshot. The tone I used meant I didn't have to raise my voice. I didn't pick up the reputation as a hard-assed bastard by licking it up off the floor, you know? 

Staring Brown and Harrison down, I directed my comments at them, but made sure my voice reached the whole room. "That will be the first and _last_ time anyone uses spiders, real or fake, in any form, or in any way, to razz Sandburg." 

"Oh, come on, Jim!" Brown protested. "Hairboy was ok with it!" 

"I wasn't." 

They both sputtered and muttered about it all being good fun and called me an overprotective spoil sport. Not that I'm not, you understand, but that wasn't the point, and they weren't getting it. "Ah huh. So, Brown, I guess you'd be fine with rubber snakes suddenly appearing in your desk? How about you, Harrison? You want to start airing your phobias?" I could tell by his blanch he was less than excited about the idea of me finally going public with his reaction to the leaches he and I had encountered on a case a few years back. 

They started edging away. 

"Glad we could all come to this agreement, gentlemen," I said as I turned back to my desk. 

When Sandburg reappeared a few minutes later bearing the tape, he was back to his usual bounce setting. Brown and Harrison had gone out on a case, and so the incident ended. It wasn't until late that night, as I lay in bed, that the realizations about Blair having become family occurred to me. In the office, I had just unquestionably known it was my job to defend him. That night, though, I realized I was more protective of him than I'd ever been with Carolyn. I remember being puzzled -- surprised -- by that more than worried. I hadn't noticed the transition from "friend" to "family." I did manage to figure out that I felt closer to him than to my "real" brother, my army buddies, or even to Simon. I think I kind of stuck in him a box labeled "brother" for lack of a better label and decided that since Blair had proven to be such a trouble magnet, who better to protect him? Then I went to sleep. 

Looking back at it now, the amount of protectiveness I felt -- to say nothing of the fact that he meant more to me than Carolyn ever had -- really, really should've clued me in that he was family alright, just not a _brother,_ but once again we return to the theme of Jim Ellison with the super senses not seeing what was right in front of his face. 

My face. Whatever. 

* * *

The day I finally figured out what I was feeling was more than amusement, friendship, or something filial, we were at home. It was a Saturday and Blair was just starting to come up from under a bout of pneumonia. A stakeout down in the marina the week before had turned his lingering cold into a full-scale infection -- something that had become all too easy since he had, as he insisted on calling it, "gotten damp." 

The fever had left him muzzy, as had the lack of real sleep, so he was dozing fitfully in his small room. 

I don't think I've ever covered the distance from the couch to that room as quickly as I did when I heard his quiet gasp of fear. 

The problem was immediately apparent; a large -- and it was pretty damned big -- spider was crawling up the blankets towards him. 

I flashed on the story he'd told me years before about his nightmares with spiders in his bed. Grabbing one of the dozens of tissues he had littering his bed, I killed the spider without smashing it against Blair, and tossed the evidence into the trashcan across the room. As I turned back to him, I watched his face turn beet red. 

He leaned his head back against the pillows, messed with the covers like getting them straight was a matter of national security, and refused to meet my eyes. "Sorry about that, I, uh . . ." His voice trailed off, but I think I caught the word wuss before he fell silent. 

Just because I'm not known for my tact doesn't mean I can't show some _sometimes._ "Give me a break, Chief," I scoffed and paused until he raised his eyes to mine. "I think you're a guy with a fever who woke up in the middle of a childhood nightmare. That's enough to scare the shit out of anyone. Besides, if I was going to think you were a wuss, it'd be because I can still beat your ass running five miles." 

That surprised a laugh out of him. Which, sadly, made him cough. I swooped down and let him brace himself against my shoulder as the coughs wracked him; I could tell by the way he'd been moving that his abdomen muscles were so sore every cough was hurting more than just his lungs. You might think the fact that I didn't even think before letting him use me as a brace like that might've been the clue that shoved me into figuring things out, but it wasn't; I just sat there, winced for him, waited patiently while he got his breath back, and then handed him a tissue. 

He blew his nose. "Thanks. And thanks for the, ah, extermination." 

"All part of the service, Chief. Want some juice?" 

I got him a glass, helped him get comfortable again -- I'm a champion pillow fluffer -- and went back to my book in the living room. I wasn't too surprised to see him wander out aimlessly a few minutes later; he looked a little lost and, for just a moment, about five years old with his comforter wrapped around his shoulders, one end trailing behind him. When he plopped down on the opposite end of the couch and burrowed into the corner, I had a feeling what was going on, but I wasn't going to press him. 

That lasted through ten minutes of watching him fidget and try to get comfortable. The second time he kicked me accidentally as he shifted around, I put my book down. 

"Blair, you're not going to get comfortable on the couch." 

"Yeah, I know," the miserable look on his face deepened. "It's just that every time I close my eyes, I see that spider." 

I felt pretty of proud of myself for having actually figuring out what was bugging him before he told me. Two points for me. I'd also already decided what I was going to do if he admitted it. "Why don't you go crash upstairs?" His shocked expression made me smile. "Lots of room, spider-free, clean sheets. What more could you need?" I had a sudden flash of him sleeping in my bed, but I pushed it away and handed him another Kleenex because I could tell his nose was running, and let me tell you -- when you're a Sentinel sniffing sounds gross, even worse than blowing. 

"I don't want to toss you out of your bed." 

"You aren't going to; the tent has less room than that bed, Chief, and how many times have we done that? So why don't you go on up and get settled. See if you can actually sleep up there. Go on; I want to finish this book." 

With half an ear, I listened to him get ready for bed and settle in upstairs. Fifteen minutes later, he was sleeping better than he had in a couple days, which pleased me. Even after all of that, I was still classifying it all as the usual Jim-watching-over-Blair kind of thing. 

Then I woke up the next morning. 

Sometime during the night, he'd nestled over on my side of the bed and I was holding him against my chest, my arm cradling him tight against me. I'd been coming awake in layers -- first I knew I was warm, cozy even. Then I partially realized that I was holding a warm body against me and that I was enjoying it, right down to the soft breath against my chest. It was only after I came awake just far enough to realize I was in my own bed, and that Blair's heartbeat really was as close as it seemed, that I put all the pieces together. 

I was enjoying holding my partner, Guide, friend, brother . . . 

. . . and I loved him. Loved him as a partner, a Guide, a friend, and a brother, but as a whole hell of a lot more than that, too. 

It didn't hit me like a smack in the head or the proverbial ton of bricks; it was like the last piece of some puzzle I hadn't known I was working on snapped into place and the picture was fully clear. The sense of contentment I felt at being so complete enveloped me. I basked in it. 

Somewhere in the midst of this happy little interlude of realization Blair woke up. And froze in the midst of snuggling closer. 

He tried to pull away. I didn't let him go far. 

"Ah, um . . ." It wasn't often that my partner sputtered, but he sure as hell did this time. "Sorry about this . . ." 

"I'm not." 

"You're . . . you what, Jim?" 

I pushed his hair back from his face and looked down, straight into his eyes, not hiding anymore behind all the ways I'd labeled our relationship. I felt bold and scared, daring and anxious, all at once, but I also felt more sure of the words than I ever had in my life. "I love you, Blair." 

The most beautiful smile I'd ever seen transformed his face from worry to gladness. "Leave it to you to finally figure it out when I feel like complete crap and can't do anything about it!" 

"Yeah, well, when have I ever done anything easy?" 

"That's for sure." The little shit rolled his eyes at me. I still wanted to kiss him. 

"On the other hand, think of it this way -- if I can love you despite the chapped nose, raspy-cough voice, and hair that has, frankly, seen better days, you know I'm in it for the long haul." 

Since I was careful to combine my charming words with cradling his face, and then gently stroking my thumb over his lips, I think he decided to forgive me. 

We spent the morning in bed, not really doing much of anything, just talking; him not being able to breathe long enough to even kiss did delay things a bit, but we got over it. I told him the sequence of spider stories, which made him laugh his ass off. Especially since the day I'd given him an escape from the fake spider incident was the day he'd figured out that he had feelings for me that went beyond study subject, Sentinel, friend, partner, or brother. 

And that's how we ended up here, a year later. He's still in my bed, but this time he's drowsy because we just made love, not because he's sick. I'm feeling exactly the same way. I'm also wearing his anniversary present; one of his friends managed to create a small, silver stud that from a distance looks like a ball with a simple design. 

Up close, though, the earring is a spider. 

* * *

End Spiders by Aouda Fogg: aoudafogg@yahoo.com  
Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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